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the art of living your life purpose

Excuse me, My Dark Side is Showing: Embracing the Dark Side within Yourself

Be who you want, Inspiring Stories, Learning to Love Yourself, Life LessonsChloë Rain

Warning this episode of real life contains explicit lyrics, promiscuity, and seedy videos: listen, watch, go dark

My dark side is showing.

As if in a drug induced dream state, I brush past some young girl at the club and she turns and says to me, "Your dark side is showing."

Then turns away again, laughing like I'd just walked out of bathroom with toilet paper stuck on my 6 inch stilettos, that I charged on my credit card because they were so fierce, and I had to have them, because I imagined myself dancing in dark places in Paris.

I did find myself in dark places in Paris, though, once I had on my shit stomping riding boots, and the other time I had on full Spanx.

Neither time, was I feeling particularly fierce or badass. I get scared, feel awkward, clutch, cling... then I DO IT anyway.

Life shows up on the other side of letting go and falling backward off the cliff into the unknown. I've done it enough times now, to know that's where it shows up, not that it doesn't scare the shit out of me every time I do it. But the point is, I keep doing it.  

My dark side does tend to show up unexpectedly.  Like tonight, it was a combination of a number of things, and there I was totally taken over by the dark mistress, the starless one, the who gets off a little from the pain and likes to do the things that run the adrenaline high, can sometimes hurt, and she doesn't care what I think, how many self help books I've read, or that I sat through ten days of silent meditation, and when she does show up she gives me the big middle finger and doesn't consult me in regard to what's best for "us".  

I might regret it in the morning, but in the moment, I'm too high to care, and it's dark enough to hide dark deeds.

I think it started with that photoshoot in Los Angeles.  

The advice I'd been getting from "people" was that I needed to soften my image, a little less edgy, a little more clothing. Less dark and glaring, more comfy and welcoming. I heard all these good words of advice, yes, yes, that makes sense, don't want to alienate anyone or make them feel uncomfortable.  Sure, sure these are good words of advice.  

Except, this was not what I wanted for myself.  

I wanted to be more edgy, more badass.

More me. More craze. More passion.

Less restraint.

The cover of "LoveSexy", Prince my anti-hero.

My childhood heroes were Georgia O'keeffe and Prince.  

I want to have a lover when I'm old that makes me want to paint desert sunsets that remind him of young and sensual vaginas.

I want to be a God Damn symbol, like the artist formerly known as Prince, an unspoken word that signifies, I dunno, something that is profound and wild.

I was the preteen girl who was going to save my virginity for David Bowie, for effs sake. He is a freak. An awesome amazing freak, but a freak nonetheless.  

What happened to that girl?

In second grade, my love was Prince, not Michael Jackson, like all the other girls on the playground.

Prince sang songs like "Raspberry Beret" the kind you find in a second hand store and if it was warm she wouldn't wear much more. I wore a Raspberry beret in those days, although I was just a child.

Prince made movies like Purple Rain, and I wasn't allowed to watch it, because it was too explicit. But damn if I didn't listen to "When Doves Cry" a million times. And do you remember that video? He did naked scenes in the bathtub before Rihanna ever did.

And I'm pretty sure he crawled across the bathroom floor naked with purple wisteria blossoms all around...

Com'mon now.  

He sang songs about dear Nikki masturbating with a magazine, and I think he may have coined the word 'grind', because he could not resist when he saw little Nikki grind. Look it up. 1984, Miley Cyrus, its been done before, sweetheart, but good for you. I wanna be like Prince, too.  

I mean, Prince is a 5 foot tall sex idol who wears gold lamé one piece jump suits and rides motorcycles with 6 inch heels.

I don't own any gold lamé.....but maybe there is a running theme here.

Somewhere along the way, I must have had a schizophrenic break, I imagine it happened just before puberty, all my weirdness and strange desires became banished to the ends of the earth by my unyielding desire to be normal.

I banished the dark mistress, the starless one, afraid that she might make me stand out in the crowd. When all I wanted was to be was accepted, and liked, made Homecoming Queen so I could ride in the parade down main street and wave my right hand, with hair spray in my hair from one of those bottles that caused the ozone to grow a hole.

Prince sang songs like "If I was your girlfriend"... 

I wish I had a boyfriend like Prince. He sang things like "We don't have to make children to make love, and we don't have to make love to have an orgasm." 

"We'll try to imagine what silence looks like."

"For you naked, I would dance a ballet. "

My unwieldy accomplishment to be normal ultimately lead me to utter dejection, despondency, and other D words.....

I used to drive my Nissan Sentra through the corn fields back home, blaring Pantera.  I used to drive as fast as I could on twisty dark country roads with the windows rolled down.  I used to drink moonshine with Joe in his red Transam on Friday nights at the football game. Once my boyfriend drove his car off a bridge going too fast, this was shit we used to try out just to see how far we could go. You can pull stunts like that, and retrieve your car out of the river before Dad finds out, when you've got brothers and cousins with big trucks and wenches.  Once I drove my car into a ditch going around a curve too fast on a gravel road.  I slid into the ditch sideways with such force I went up the embankment before coming to a rest at the base of a tree.

You know, I pushed my car out of that ditch by myself? On my back. Seriously. 

Then I drove it to my boyfriends and thought I had warped the axle, because the entire steering wheel shook uncontrollably the entire way there, I had taken the back roads to make it to his garage. Turns out, I had about 20 pounds of gravel pushed into my tires.  What do you do in this case? Luckily it's as easy as deflating the inner tube, removing all the stuck gravel, and re-inflating the tire. Good to know. Good to have a boyfriend with a garage and an airlift.   His family also had tractors, four wheelers, and an airplane hangar on the chicken farm.  

The only time I ever took naked pictures as a young girl was on the top of the wing of a cherry red small plane that belonged to his uncle. I still remember that shot fondly, me on all fours outstretched on the shiny red wing.  But I haven't seen that picture since I last saw him and that was back in the 90's. Thank God, my teenage love affair occurred prior to the existence of camera phones, I remember we were so nervous to get the actual film developed we drove 3 hours away so the developer wouldn't know who either of us were. 

Some of the best sex I've ever had was on the back of a four wheeler in the rain in the mountains.   I can still conjure up that feeling, that memory, that sensuality, the mist, the rain, the yearning.  That time, with my lover in the rain, in the forest, was as orgasmic as much as it was a spiritual out of body experience, and that was before I even knew of such things.

Oh, when you love that much it hurts to not be physically affixed to your lover. When you're apart the longing is tangible and makes you go a little crazy. You do things like drive all hours of the night to be together, you cry and you fight, but when you touch each other, its like you can't have enough, and words go away and there is no world.

The same girl who crawled out on the wing of that small cherry red plane, was the same girl who learned to pick up her 400 pound cherry red motorcycle off the ground when she dropped it pressing the front brakes a little more than she should.

The same girl who went to a club to see a DJ and came home smelling like the cologne of a very good looking very young man and left the smell of his hands on her body till morning.

The same part of me that sees the latest Destructo video "Higher" and gets a little turned on and wants to go out and do bad things with very young men.

She got me to thinking....

Who is this part of me?

Where does she hide, and why?


What is the draw of dancing in dark places, to lusty slattern music?

What is it about the dark side that's such a turn on?

And can you be both sides?

Can you integrate the desire for lustful things and not lose the edge, yet still be a functioning whole person and not hurt yourself or anyone else?  

Lately, I'm thinking this is where it's at.

The intersection of who I once was, who I desire to be, and my dark side, the Mistress, the Starless one.

There's something lurking in dark corners and beckoning with the sirens that myths are made of. I'm not the only one hearing the call.  Lately, I've had more than one conversation with more than one person, about this feeling, you can't shake it.

This rising up.  

A soul smoldering intensity.

An intense ripping at the bodice sensation, like I might claw my way out of my own skin if I don't break out of the mold of how and should.  

And who AM I, REALLY? 

The Union of true self and human desire.

Excuse me, my dark side is showing.


...... laying in bed after writing..... a story about a lover came to me, one I haven't written about, and one I am ready to speak of now.... In the past number of years I have not had a significant relationship. That's not to say I haven't had significant lovers, though some were more significant than others, and not all things deemed significant are necessarily good, some worse than others, but none resembling an actual relationship.... In six years I have only trusted one man to fully open myself with, and it happened almost as if by accident.  But there are no such things as accidents, there has been only one man I trusted enough to have an orgasm with in the past six years. And if you're sitting there reading this and wondering if its you, its not you, because this man doesn't have to wonder, he knows who he is, and that he's still the only one to make me         .........

For fun, I've included some of my late night guilty pleasure video watching favorites. I watch late at night, with the candles lit, and imagine I'm a badass.

I think of it like badass therapy, take as many doses as necessary to quell the mediocrity.  

Also, I am in LOVE with Nabil Elderkin and his creative mind. I want to make babies with him just so they have the mix of creativity, balls, sex appeal, emotional intelligence, and fuck you-ness imperative for making waves in this world.

If you know him, tell him to call me.

I've been told I'm good a *mind* fuck.

Smile. 

I will not lose. Bitches. 


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